Streetlights
by Parsifal1882
Summary: In the winter of 1883, Liszt greatly mourns over the death of Wagner.


" _I wish I could live with you on the Lake of Zurich, and go on writing quietly."_

Such seemingly innocent dreams... Such longed-for desires... _Hoping_ that they would come true. Liszt stared at his cigar. The warmth of it did little to help him this winter.

"..." What was there to say at all? He brushed his white hair off his face, and breathed in more of his cigar, sucking the life out of it. He greatly admired Cuban cigars... Who wouldn't? With such good taste? He laid back in his bed, and once more thought back to the few wonderful times he spent with his hidden lover: a shorter man with a temper- yes-, but a man with character, with style... And most importantly, a heart.

He remembered seeing the blue-eyed Wagner, on the couch, smoking a good cigar, or taking in snuff. He remembered the overwhelming look of love that his Richard would give whenever their gazes met. He remembered the way that the German would melt away when he would look at him whenever he'd play for him. He remembered the literal shrieks of blissed joy his little devil would give whenever he would go to visit him. He remembered the cries they gave out in their embraces. He remembered his dearest rolling about on the floor, just adoring over his King Charles' Spaniel, Peps. He remembered Wagner's unavoidable tantrums. He remembered Wagner's sadness, his feelings of emptiness. He remembered Wagner's _tears_. _Those tears..._ Those tears had absolutely tormented him. The depressed man had wished to put an end to their flow, and he tried to, but never was able to.

Liszt's own tears welled forth. He was selfish because he was thinking about their reputation. Liszt felt as if he had thrown that off the table, things would have had turned out much better. Damn critics, damn people, damn society. They were against them, and Liszt had fallen victim to its wrath. He wanted to go to Lake Zurich... Franz Liszt wanted to live in a log cabin overlooking Lake Zurich with the wonderful man, Richard Wagner.

The old man put his cigar out, letting it die, turned off the gas lamp, letting moonlight fill the room instead, and opened his nightstand drawer... He felt he detestable object. He grabbed it, and sat up. Letting the moonlight shine on it, the dark outline of a pistol was revealed. Liszt hated things like this, but somehow, at this moment, it brought a feeling of desire to him. He felt around the mouth of the pistol, fiddling with its parts. He wanted it. He wanted that bullet so badly. He placed the pistol to the side of his head, physically flirting with himself the idea of death, and the idea of being non-existent. Before he could even put his index finger to the trigger, a horrid, pale-inducing thought came to mind... **Hell.**

His teeth gritted. Why couldn't he follow after Wagner? Wagner must be WAITING for him! Of course, he would be! But, _NO!_ It's a complete SIN to commit suicide, isn't it? Out of all the things God could have made sinful, it had to be suicide! But, who was Liszt to judge God? God made His commandments for a much more eternal and righteous reason. He couldn't do much more than be frustrated. Why not just give up?

He threw the gun to the floor in a brief moment of rage, and laid back down. After much battles with himself to sleep, he finally slept.

He woke up, finding himself along familiar, gorgeous scenery. Standing, he scoped the area for clues as to where he was. A giant, blue lake, green mountains, and beautiful, pink skies. He could just faintly see the city on the other side.

" _Ahhh, yes."_ This is where he wanted to be. He would have to thank his brain later for bringing him to Lake Zurich, of course. He walked along the shoreline, just admiring the fish that would momentarily come and stay around, nibbling the algae off the boulders. He dozed off when he looked at the bigger picture of the lake, taking in the scenery... You just forget how beautiful nature really is until you're there in person, don't you?

Unmoving, and in a trance, a careful sprint could be heard behind him, almost as if it cared about the grass and rocks it treaded on.

 _BAM!_ Arms were suddenly wrapped around him! He jumped as if in fear, but suddenly relaxed when he felt that they were non-threatening. Such innocent arms, really.

"Franz, come back inside! You've been out for so long, and I want some more company!" Oh, just for how long he wanted to hear that voice!

He turned around, and lifted his Richard's chin up. Even though he felt as if he was in a sobbing joy, for some reason, he couldn't control himself in his dream. He wanted to embrace him tightly, he wanted to cry and bury his face in his head of hair to breathe in... But, no.

"Okay, Süßer, if you want." He said in a playful tone as he pecked his lips. Quickly, Wagner dragged him to the cabin, dragging him to their room.

Sitting in bed, Liszt just spectated as Wagner grabbed the wine, biscuits, cheese, and fruit. He smirked knowingly at the bottle... That German man was a threat to any luxury that was around him. He was a kidnapper, and all the expensive things he held were his victims! Just before he knew it, Liszt's face was being stuffed with fruits, biscuits, cheeses, and wine. He downed anything he was given. He felt as if he were a guinea pig.

He suddenly started to feel euphoric and tipsy. Rarely did wine ever make him drunk. He could hold his lock together very well. It must've not been wine... Until Wagner suddenly pulled out another bottle. The feeder poured its contents into his wine glass. Liszt raised his eyebrow in curiosity, then took a sip. _Absinthe._ He blinked.

"I hope it's okay if we just... Really let loose tonight," The sensitive blushed and looked down in shame.

Just before anything could be registered, Liszt pushed him against the bed, accidentally spilling the wine onto the covers, the liquid staining the fabric and them. Wagner gasped as his mouth was suddenly invaded with passionate kisses. The room getting darker, he could see less of him. He wanted to see more in this heated moment.

The lover turned on the lamp when he found him to be gone. He had woken up. Liszt growled. He was having the most pleasant dream! The sun hadn't even shown itself yet, and he had to wake up! He put on his coat and shoes, grabbed the bottle of absinthe, and drank just enough that he knew would get him wasted. He grabbed the pistol, and rushed out of the house. He had to get to Lake Zurich, he had to.

Becoming delusional, as he was crunching his way through the snow, he found the lake. He barely could pace himself to it. He felt almost like giving up until he found Wagner just standing right there in the distance. RIGHT THERE! He was staring off at this frozen mass of water.

Liszt, in his drunken excitement, tried to force himself over, but it was becoming too much for his tipsy state and old frame to really handle. He cried out at the difficulty of it.

" _RICHARD! I'M HERE!"_ He shouted out desperately, tears rolling down his cheeks, _"RICHARD! COME HERE!"_ The man with the light gray hair in the distance didn't take notice of him at all. This was frustrating to him! Absolutely frustrating! He needed to get his attention! The maniac could barely move anymore, but that still didn't stop him. He pulled out the pistol, and put it to his temple.

" _I'M COMING HOME!"_ Liszt shouted out. And when Wagner turned to look at him with a melancholic smile-

A gun shot.

 **...**

Liszt laid on the snow. The bullet missed his head. He passed out from the stress of it all: it was too much for him to handle. He couldn't keep this lock.

 _And as the final streetlight burned out, the golden sun rose in pink skies to now shine on the miserable one lying in the streets._


End file.
